


The Ideas of God (one of which was you)

by TheFandomLesbian



Series: Spencer's Raulson One-Shots [68]
Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Asylum
Genre: Angst, Bananun, Escape, F/F, Kidnapping, One Shot, Pre-Relationship, Religion, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Roman Catholicism, conversion therapy, raulson - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:42:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27707095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFandomLesbian/pseuds/TheFandomLesbian
Summary: Mary Eunice realizes after a headcount that she is missing a patient. A clue by Mr. Walker sends her knocking on Dr. Thredson's door. She has no idea what she'll find inside.
Relationships: Sister Mary Eunice/Lana Winters
Series: Spencer's Raulson One-Shots [68]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1214643
Comments: 13
Kudos: 50





	The Ideas of God (one of which was you)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Mary Oliver Poem: "So every day, I was surrounded by the beautiful crying forth of the ideas of God, one of which was you."   
> For two dialogue prompts received on Tumblr. <3

Patient count happened every five days.

Okay, so it was supposed to happen every three days.

Well, actually, it was supposed to happen daily. But corners got cut; they were understaffed. Sister Mary Eunice tried to be a good person, tried to do a good job, tried to provide quality care as a nurse and as a nun, and it was becoming more and more difficult with time as Sister Jude raised the stakes and the things expected of them and did not have the power or the availability to take more staff into Briarcliff. They had no choice but to cut corners. Sister Mary Eunice had to run the kitchen, ensure the bread got baked, try to keep things clean, worry about keeping everyone safe from one another and from the elements, mind Dr. Arden (when no one else minded him, she still did, because he was kind to her and he frightened her and she wasn’t sure which of those things was more compelling). So to make her job manageable, she spaced things out, tried to organize things, what was important enough to get done daily and what could wait. 

Counting heads? That happened every five days, less often than Sister Jude had recommended, less often than actual professionals recommended, less often than Sister Mary Eunice would’ve liked for it to happen, but she couldn’t help it. There was only one of her. Something had to give. 

Except something had given. 

Lana Winters was missing. 

“Mr. Walker,” Mary Eunice pleaded with him, trotting to keep up with him as he shuffled around after the guards in his shackles, “ _ please. _ How long has Miss Winters been missing? Where has she gone?” 

He glowered at her. She no longer shrank under the reproachful stares of the insane; she had done this long enough that very little shook her. But her heart gave a twisted little pang.  _ He isn’t going to help me. _ “Lana is gone. She isn’t coming back. I hope you never find her.” 

The other patients didn’t know. As far as anyone knew, no one had seen Lana Winters for three days. Mary Eunice didn’t know what she expected. The patients would not help her. The ones who found her respectful and kind did not have the capabilities to speak to provide aid; the others lumped her in with the rest, with Sister Jude’s beatings and Sister Bertha’s starving and the moldy crackers Sister Linda would shove at them for meals. Mary Eunice didn’t  _ blame _ them. 

But she had a patient missing, who had been missing for three--almost four--days. And sooner rather than later, Sister Jude would realize she was missing. 

_ I’m going to be in trouble. _ Mary Eunice’s stomach quivered inside of her at the thought. Sister Jude would almost assuredly cane her for her transgressions. She failed to ensure the safety of her patients.  _ I’m so stupid. _ Whatever had happened to Lana Winters--whether she had simply escaped or something bad had happened to her--it was Mary Eunice’s fault. 

She couldn’t forgive herself. Not until she knew what happened to Lana. 

Day four was no more productive. “Mr. Walker,” Mary Eunice bargained, “if you tell me what you know about Miss Winters’s whereabouts, I can help you. I can--I can reduce your chore duties, or--or improve your meal access--” Mary Eunice was powerless to do anything real, to provide witness testimony to his criminal trial or to free him (and she wouldn’t free a killer, anyway, no matter what she needed from him), but she could try to make his stay here more comfortable. She could try, and she  _ would, _ if he helped her.

He looked thoughtful. Considerate. Then, he silently shook his head. 

She licked her lips. “Mr. Walker, is there… anything I can do for you?” He seemed contemplative, contemplative in a way she only saw in suicidal patients. She had done this long enough to recognize patterns of behavior. “Are you alright?” she pressed. 

“Why the hell would I tell you of all people?” He spat the words at her like fire spitting from between the teeth of a dragon, and she recoiled at his sharp tone. “Go away, Sister. Forget about Lana and go chase an  _ actual _ criminal for a change.” 

Mary Eunice’s belly flipped as she strode away from his cell.  _ He has a point. _ She tried to silence that little voice in her head, murmuring to her that they imprisoned both dangerous and violent criminals here as well as people who had done nothing wrong except love. Men who loved men too much, women who loved women too much, women and men alike who loved the wrong person--all landed here for gynephilia, homosexuality, infidelity, crimes against God surely but not against the legal books, Mary Eunice didn’t think. How could they be?

How could a mass serial murderer like Kit Walker and a relatively innocent lesbian like Lana Winters belong under the same roof?

_ That’s not for me to decide. _ Mary Eunice had to find her, ensure her safety, and return her to her cell-- _ before _ Sister Jude got wise. 

At dawn on the fifth day of Lana Winters’s absence, Mary Eunice left her chambers. She licked her lips, adjusting her coif, and trotted down the corridor toward the kitchen when the sound of the scuffling rose up. “Pin him down!” cried out the security guard. “Get him out of here! It’s off to the jailhouse for him! He’s not wasting another minute of our time!”

Morbid curiosity drove her, though Mary Eunice wasn’t sure why--she had no doubt it was another criminal battling security unjustly and losing the fight miserably. She peered around the corner, watching as one of the security guards unsheathed his baton and held it up over Kit Walker’s head. He spotted her from the floor where he lay, hands tossed up over his face to protect himself. “Sister Mary Eunice!” He called her name desperately from the cobblestone. 

She approached. One of the security guards held up his hand. “Don’t come any closer, Sister. Dr. Thredson submitted new evidence to the court. This man is guilty.” 

Her brow furrowed. “He’s lying!” Kit tried to push himself up onto his feet with his forearms, but the guard kicked him in the stomach. He hit the floor again with a sickening  _ thwack. _ Wearied eyes met hers, but he did not try to lift himself from the cold cement. “It’s Thredson. He took Lana.” Tears streamed from his eyes. “He took Lana, he said he was going to help her escape, and help me, he lied to me, he lied, he has Lana--” 

The guard lifted his boot to kick him again. Mary Eunice held up her hand. “Please,” she discouraged quietly, and he reconsidered, giving her a doubtful look. “Let him speak.”

Kit spat blood. “He has Lana. She said she’d come back for me, and she hasn’t, and--and he lied to me, he tricked me into submitting a false confession, he  _ has her, _ that’s where she is--”

“You don’t seriously believe a word this man is saying, Sister?” the security guard asked her.  _ Do I?  _ Mary Eunice wasn’t sure. Her teeth settled together with a quiet  _ click. _ Kit continued to plead with her, tears rolling down his face and streaking with his blood, but he did not bargain for his freedom or try to convince them to let him go. Every word he spoke was about Lana Winters. “This man is a psychopath. He’ll say whatever it takes to try to keep himself off death row. You’re wasting your time listening to him.”

“ _ Please, _ listen to me, you have to go  _ find her _ \--” 

His babbling was background noise. “Of course,” Mary Eunice whispered to the guard.  _ Dr. Thredson’s house.  _ She turned on her heel and strode away, the heavy gray walls of the corridor following her, casting her shadow long and dancing across the floor.

Did she believe Kit Walker? Not exactly. 

But now she had a lead. She was running out of time to find Lana Winters before Sister Jude got wise. She had to take advantage of the limited time she had at her disposal.  _ How will I get to Dr. Thredson’s house? _ She didn’t have a car.  _ Dr. Arden does. _ She had no doubt if she asked, he would let her borrow his car… but she didn’t want to subject herself to that torment. 

_ The Monsignor’s car is outside under the carport. _

The keys were in the chapel under the pulpit-- _ For emergencies only,  _ the Monsignor always said, or  _ I’ll cane you if I ever see you so much as look at them, _ Sister Jude always said.  _ I’ll be fast, _ Mary Eunice reasoned.  _ If I get her back safely, Sister Jude will never know the difference. _

Stealing into the chapel, the keys jingled as she dropped the ring into her pocket and slipped out the back door.

…

Pulling up in front of Dr. Thredson’s house, Mary Eunice parked the car right outside in the copse of trees and trotted up to the front porch. She knocked once, twice, thrice, and she waited. Silence greeted her. His car was parked there.  _ He has to be home. _ “Dr. Thredson?” she called. “Dr. Thredson, it’s Sister Mary Eunice, from Briarcliff?” 

No answer. 

Pursing her lips, Mary Eunice tilted her head.  _ What if he’s in some kind of trouble? _ She tried the doorknob--unlocked.  _ I shouldn’t. _ But if he knew something about Lana… She pushed the door open, stepping through the threshold into the living room. “Dr. Thredson?” The door creaked where she left it open behind her, the autumn breeze allowing dry leaves to tickle the floor. But in spite of the light--the house was well-lit--she could not bring herself to close the door behind her. 

Something tingled in the pit of her gut, telling her that if she closed that door, she would never see sunlight again. “Dr. Thredson?” Her voice choked out when she tried to utter his name again, and she fell silent, walking on the balls of her feet across the floor.  _ Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. _ She proceeded through the living room into the hallway. All of the doors stood ajar, most with the lights on.

The lampshades caught her eye. Homemade tanned leather, but too thin and light to be cattlehide, and-- _ Is that blood? _ Mary Eunice gulped at the sight of the bloodstains on the shades. She crossed herself.  _ Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.  _

One door stood wide open. She peered inside at the assortment of tools, and on the floor, the trap door hanging down, revealing the basement below. A chill rose up from there. Mary Eunice dropped to her knees.  _ What is going on here? _ Sprawling out on her belly, she braced herself against the sides of the trap door and stuck her head down there, peeking through. 

A sharp, bitter cold gust of wind slapped her.  _ It’s a freezer! _ Squinting her eyes, she blinked tears from her eyes and focused on the shapes--three shapes. 

_ Three shapes. _

One, cold and blue and dead sitting in a chair. Two, standing with his back to her, facing a small bed, pacing back and forth, muttering to himself and talking aloud. Three--Lana Winters, chained to the twin size bed, weeping silently with bloodshot eyes while Oliver Thredson pawed his hands through his hair, knife in hand. 

Mary Eunice sat up and propelled herself away from the trap door.  _ Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen. _ She crossed herself again, drawing her knees up to her chest, chin chattering and lips wobbling and palms sweating. Scrambling back up to her feet, she crept on cat’s feet out of the tanning room, up the hallway, and looked outside through the door she’d left open-- _ I should go back, I should go back and tell Sister Jude what I saw and make them send the police, they’ll send the police and they’ll let Lana go and they’ll let Kit go, Kit, Kit is innocent, Kit is-- _

A shriek pierced the air. 

Whirling on her heel, Mary Eunice faced the door from which it had come--the door behind which the basement stairs waited for her to go down and confront the killer.  _ I can’t do that! I can’t do that! I can’t do that! I can’t-- _ Her brain chanted it over and over like a prayer as she took a step, and another, and another, and another, and pushed open the door to the basement stairs. 

“Get off of me! Don’t touch me!”

“This is what has to be done, Lana. This is what I have to do to fix you. You want to be fixed, don’t you? You want to be healed! I can fix you, and then you can be free--”

“I don’t want to be  _ fixed-- _ ” 

Mary Eunice gazed across the wide basement. She reached the lowest stair and then her foot touched the floor. Reaching up, she took an ice pick off of the wall of the freezer.  _ What am I doing?  _ She spun it experimentally in her hand, uncertain how it fit there—she had seldom used one before, even for its intended purpose, because Briarcliff couldn't afford special tools like that for the freezer.  _ What am I going to do with this?  _ Her feet acted of their own accord, approaching the man from behind. 

"It doesn't matter what you want." He secured an ugly, flesh mask over his face, the hair sticking up all over. Leaning over the bed, he seized her by the waistband of her sweatpants. 

"No!" Grabbing the blankets, Lana tangled them all up, throwing them up between them like some sort of obstacle. Mary Eunice drew nearer, silently crossing the floor, her Mary Janes making not a sound upon the cement. "Don't touch me!" 

Wide brown eyes found hers. Mary Eunice froze where she hovered, clutching the ice pick like a whittling knife, less than a foot away from Bloody Face—Bloody Face, not Dr. Thredson,  _ Kit was telling the truth— _

He found Lana's eyes, registered her expression, how she looked not at him but  _ behind _ him, and he turned. Mary Eunice gulped. Her feet rooted to the floor, she lifted her gaze to his. He towered over her. Their eyes locked. 

_ "If you look into the face of evil, it will look right back at you."  _ Sister Jude's voice echoed in her head. 

So did Mother Claudia's.  _ "My daughter, when you look evil and injustice in the eye, you will often find it doesn't have the courage to look back."  _

It was looking back, alright. 

He lunged for her, arms open. Mary Eunice wielded the icepick like a shield, pedaling backward, away from him. "No, no, no—"  _ Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee— _ He bellowed. The sound shook her to her core, an earthquake pulsing forward from her. She danced away, not turning her back to him. "Please—" she squeaked, as if it would make a difference.  _ Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus— _

“Pleasure to see you again, Sister.” His hot breath wafted across her face. 

Lana sat up on the bed. She swung off of the side of it, adjusting her sweatpants. “Leave her alone!” she bleated. Pale, gray, haggard--Briarcliff had not managed to beat the life from her, but Bloody Face had done it, so unforgiving and unyielding. 

The man did not turn from where his eyes fixed up Mary Eunice. “Give us the ice pick, Sister. Give it to us.” Her back pressed up against the wall.  _ Where did that come from? _ How had he cornered her so effortlessly? Her gaze did not waver from his. She refused to look away, though she shrank from his sour breath touching her lips. His hand wrapped around hers where she held a vice grip on the ice pick. “Give us the ice pick.”

“Don’t touch her!” Lana swung at him, trying to snag him by his clothes and drag him back or hinder his progression-- _ Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death-- _ her chain caught and refused to let her reach. “Sister,  _ run! _ ” Lana grabbed things off of the shelves beside her. She hurled them, a clothespin, a balled up pair of dirty socks, a ceramic bowl.

They glanced off of Bloody Face’s back and landed uselessly on the floor. He did not even look back at her, his dark eyes boring into Mary Eunice’s. ‘Give us the ice pick, Sister.” His hand squeezed hers, tighter, tighter, but she did not relinquish her grip, though her white-knuckled fingers ached and throbbed. “Give it to us--” 

Lana flung a picture frame. It smacked between his shoulder blades and landed on the concrete floor, the glass shattering at their feet. Bloody Face reached up. He peeled that horrific mask from his face and turned back to look at Lana. Her lower lip shivered. “Leave. Her. Alone.” She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing with the effort where she stood fixed to the bed. “You can do whatever you want with me, but  _ let her go. _ ” 

Distracted, he tilted his head. “What a sacrifice you’ve made, Lana.” The space between his body and Mary Eunice’s widened. “The one thing you have left of Wendy…” There, the tattered image of a woman with a cigarette between her lips--Bloody Face stepped on her. “You’ve thrown it away. Because of me? I’m flattered.” 

Her whole jaw chattered with chill and terror. “N-Not because of you. Because of  _ her. _ ” 

“Is that so?” He turned his back to her now. “Well, maybe you have some more learning to do.”

Mary Eunice’s gaze flittered to the right--the staircase just there. He took another step toward Lana. She could run now and have a head start. She had the keys to the Monsignor’s car. She could rush up those stairs and drive straight to the police station, forget going back to Briarcliff, and they could catch Bloody Face, and they would release Kit Walker and free Lana.  _ If he hasn’t killed her by then. _

Twin tears rolled down Lana’s cheeks. She closed her eyes as if in resignation, bracing herself for the man’s rough touch upon her skin. 

She held that expression when Mary Eunice plunged the ice pick into his back. 

The sound registered first, before any of the rest of the scene--the bellowing sound, an animal in agony, and he doubled over, reaching back to grapple at her hand, which still gripped the ice pick buried into his shoulder blade. “Oh, my word, I am so sorry--”  _ What? I’m sorry? _ She bleated out the apology on reflex and withdrew her hand, leaving the weapon there in his flesh, until his hand wrapped around it and snatched it out. 

He swung on her. “You stupid, sniveling, pathetic bitch--” Mary Eunice scrambled backward, away from him--she’d let go of her weapon, and she had nothing now, nothing but her own two hands and her rosary and the Monsignor’s car keys which she whipped out and grasped between her fingers like knives. 

Behind her, on the freezer wall, rested more ice picks, hammers, screw drivers, knives, tools--if she could get to them in time. Behind  _ him, _ in the medicine cabinet behind glass, were medicines drawn up into syringes with needles. He became aware of it at the same moment she did. They both turned and ran. 

“Sister,  _ run! _ ” Lana cried desperately again, but Mary Eunice did not listen.  _ Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our protection against the wickedness and the snares of the Devil… _ Her hand closed around the first thing she found, a large butcher knife, something she knew how to use--she used them all the time in the Briarcliff kitchen--and when she spun on her heel, he greeted her with a flash of a syringe, the needle uncapped.  _ May God rebuke him, we humbly pray. _

How did she use this against a person? She wasn’t sure. She knew how to use it in the kitchen, but against another person? Her grip was unsteady and his steadfast. But she locked eyes with him again, and it seemed more doable. 

Before her stood a person. A bad person. An evil one. But she handled men like him all the time, and she did it without violence or weaponry. _ And do thou, O Prince of the Heavenly Host, by the power of God, thrust into hell Satan and all evil spirits who wander through the world for the ruin of souls.  _ She could do this--maybe. 

Or maybe she would die.

But she would die, she thought, before she left this place without Lana Winters beside her. _ Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends. _ If one had asked her an hour ago whether or not she considered Lana Winters a friend, she would’ve managed a somewhat twisted answer about unprofessional relationships, but now, she knew no greater ally. 

“Put down the knife, Sister--”

“ _ No. _ ” The timber to Mary Eunice’s voice surprised her. She had never heard herself speak like that before, ardent, cold, firm, loud, uncaring, unyielding. “Put down the needle.”

He smiled at her. “You know I can’t do that.” She gripped the knife tighter. “You’ll just go to sleep. You’ll never feel a thing.” 

“I’m not afraid of you.”  _ I’m not afraid, I’m not afraid, I’m not afraid, I’m not-- _ If she repeated it enough times, perhaps it would become true. Her voice did not shake. But her hand did where she clung to the knife.

He charged at her. Again, she danced away, pirouetting like a practiced ballerina. She gripped the knife, a sword in its own right, and held it out to him like she would wield a shield. Spinning past him, she ran across the room to the furniture, the bookshelf, the wardrobe,  _ I can turn those over, I can use them somehow, I’m not sure how-- _ She grabbed the first bookshelf at the top and pulled. 

It didn’t budge. 

“Bolted to the wall, Sister.” His wrist descended at her, the needle intent on her shoulder. She swung. The needle grazed her, but it fell to the floor as the blade of the knife sawed gracefully into his fingers, splicing bone and sinew. 

She had seen baby carrots more difficult to cut. 

The syringe rolled across the floor to the bedside. Lana picked it up. Bloody Face screamed, gripping his hand and howling. Mary Eunice’s eyes found hers across the floor, and for whatever stupid, godforsaken reason, she smiled. 

Lana smiled back, a nervous thing of relief.

Bloody Face sank his hands into Mary Eunice’s hair, the blood flowing all over her coif. “You stupid  _ cunt _ \--” Squirming, she swung the knife, but she missed; she swung again and nicked his wrist, again and her coif ripped and she wriggled away from him, her scalp smarting and tingling and a clump of hair left behind, and she ran to Lana this time, because together, they could help one another--

He seized her again. Surprised, the knife clattered to the concrete floor, and Lana’s expression mirrored her own as her hands opened and the syringe again hit the stone floor. 

A foot landed on her back, pushing her into the cement. The syringe rolled toward her. Her hand closed around it. He placed all of his weight between her shoulder blades. “Ah--” She couldn’t restrain the strained cry of pain escaping from her parted lips. 

“Get off of her!”

He lifted his foot off of her, and he leaned over, bleeding hands reaching for the knife. “Watch this, Lana.” His voice was soft, gentle, caring, tender, and a cold chill raced down Mary Eunice’s spine. “I’ll show you how to butcher her. All those parts you think you like… Show you how they look on the inside. A Fallopian tube is no wider than a piece of spaghetti. A uterus, in the abdomen of a virgin, one who has never carried a pregnancy, about the size of a pear. An ovary is such a--”

He stopped talking first. Mary Eunice peered up at him from where she had wrapped herself around his leg and embedded the needle into his vastus lateralis and pulled the plunger. He blinked once, twice. Stumbling, he vaguely shook his bleeding fists at her. Blood dribbled onto her face. He tripped. Fell backward. Landed on his back. Did not rise. 

Mary Eunice watched him in silence. “Is he  _ dead? _ ” Horror trembled in her voice. 

“Who cares?” Lana snatched at her chains. 

Mary Eunice shook herself. She crossed herself, and for good measure, just in case she had just killed man, she prayed,  _ Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them. May their souls and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace, _ as she rose to greet Lana. “Where--Where--Where are the keys, the keys?” Lana mercilessly ground at the chain where she had made some progress at loosening it, but not nearly enough. 

“I don’t know, he never let me see where he keeps them--” Mary Eunice scanned the room. “Where are you going?” Lana trilled.

“Bolt cutters!” Standing on her toes, she swatted them off the wall and dragged them back to Lana’s side. 

On the floor, Bloody Face gave a mighty twitch. “Hurry, he’s waking up--” Mary Eunice sawed through the rusted steel. Her fingers ached. Her body burned. Her eyes stung.  _ What am I doing, what just happened, why am I-- _ Bloody Face gasped. The excess chain fell away. “ _ Run! _ ” It was the third time Lana said it and the first time she obeyed, their fingers interlocking together as Mary Eunice dragged her toward the stairs. 

Lana’s feet were wearied and slow. She stumbled up the staircase. Mary Eunice didn’t relent. The days of captivity had disoriented her, but they did not have time to waste to allow her to recover. “Go, go, hurry--” Mary Eunice drove her onward. She stumbled and fell over the remaining chain at the top of the stairs. 

“ **_Lana!_ ** ” Mary Eunice scooped her up by her shoulders. Following the voice from below came the raucous sound of him pounding his way immediately behind them. 

Desperately gasping for air, Lana clung to Mary Eunice. Mary Eunice hauled her along behind. The front door stood wide open, sunlight pouring in, the way Mary Eunice had left it when she entered--the way that fear had paralyzed her, that God-sent sensation which told her if she closed the door behind her, she would never see the sunlight again. The sunlight poured over them, a gift from the heavens, and the dazed look on Lana’s face made Mary Eunice wish for the briefest of moments that they had time to stop and allow her to reacclimate to these surroundings. 

Instead, the grass tickling their ankles was another obstacle between them and freedom. 

Mary Eunice ripped the door to the car open and shoved Lana inside. She fell into the floor and struggled to pull herself upright. Mary Eunice’s quivering hands thrust the key into the ignition and cranked the engine. It turned over and revved to life. Lana scrambled back up into the seat of the car. “How did you find me?” 

“Kit Walker told me--”

Gun fire pierced the air. The back windshield of the car shattered. Lana shrieked. Mary Eunice flung herself on top of her, covering Lana’s body with her own,  _ God, give me strength, make me brave, make me _ \-- “He has a gun!” Lana’s arms wriggled out from under Mary Eunice, shifted the gears of the car, pressed the clutch, and blindly powered in reverse. 

The impact of the car rattling into the trees behind them jarred their teeth. 

The gun fired again. The bullet audibly glanced off of the side of the car. Mary Eunice forced herself back up. “He’ll shoot you!” She shoved the car into drive and slammed the pedal to the floor. 

Grass and sod and rocks flung up as the car veered up the narrow driveway, all crooked and winding, and without a second glance, Mary Eunice turned onto the main road. 

“This isn’t the way back to Briarcliff!” Lana shrieked.

“This is the way to the police station!” 

Mary Eunice’s foot pressed all the way to the floor of the car. She did not check the speedometer. She checked nothing except counting her own pulse, but she didn’t have a clock, so she could only count the elevated and uneven heartbeats and uneven gasps for breath. 

Wild-eyed and harried where she sat up, her hair all tangled and askew, Lana regarded her with an astonished expression on her face. “You--You saved my life.” Mary Eunice licked her lips. “You saved my life, you saved my--You could’ve run, you could’ve gone to call the police, you could’ve--you saved my life--”

She kept saying those words, but the repetition did not make the meaning seem any more real to Mary Eunice. Her voice tapered off quietly when Mary Eunice reached for her hand, and again, their fingers zipped together like a neat French braid. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.” The sound of her own voice surprised her. She hadn’t expected to speak, and she hadn’t expected it to sound so different from the tone and words she used when staring evil in the face. “You’re safe with me.” 

_ She would’ve been safer if I hadn’t been so stupid in the first place. I never should’ve let her go. It shouldn’t have taken me so long to realize she was missing. I could’ve done so much better. I’m so stupid. I’m so stupid. I’m so stupid-- _ Lana squeezed her hand, and it silenced Mary Eunice’s inner critic. “Please stay with me.” 

Lana did not see her failures. She saw something more than that--some capable, and safe, and secure. It terrified Mary Eunice. But it also warmed her. Something pleasant bloomed in the pit of her stomach. “I will. I promise.” 


End file.
